And Another Thing...(hospital stay narrative)

The late Sir Kingsley Amis wrote a spoof on Shakespeare's "Fear no more the heat o' the sun," beginning: "Look thy last on all things shitty, / While thou'rt at it . . . " The body of the poem goes on to list aspects of the modern world that Amis regarded as shitty-pop stars, soccer fans, tourists, and so on. The last stanza goes:

High-rise blocks and action paintings,

Sculptures made from wire and lead:

Each of them a sight more lovely

Than the curtains round your bed.

I had occasion to recall these lines recently. I had woken up one morning with a pain in my chest and gasping for breath. In common with, I think, most males of the species, I have a deep-rooted belief that illness is best ignored, and that most things get better of their own accord, provided you show them no fear. Stress, I thought, been working too hard. Must slow down. I therefore got up and embarked on my usual 16-hour day.

Two weeks of wheezing and panting, supplemented by much nagging from my wife, drove me to the family doctor, who ordered me to a local radiology clinic for X-rays. The clinic told me to proceed directly to the Emergency Room of my local hospital, where a pulmonary specialist would meet me.